


Just Once

by PoorUnfortunateSoul



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Dancing, Fluff, Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorUnfortunateSoul/pseuds/PoorUnfortunateSoul
Summary: Just once, Steve let's Bucky teach him how to dance.





	Just Once

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know shit all about the comics. My sister (who this fic is for) sat me down and forced me to watch all the movies with her faves in it (which consists of Peter Parker, Bucky, and Loki) but other than that, the only Marvel movies I've seen were Big Hero 6, Into the Spiderverse, Captain Marvel, the first Guardians of the Galaxy, and Venom. I haven't even seen all of the Avengers. She had me skip Age of Ultron because Bucky isn't in it, which made Civil War a little confusing but whatever. 
> 
> Point is, I know a lot of people care about these characters and there's a 100% chance I'll fuck up their characterization or storylines and at least You'll Know Why. 
> 
> TW for internalized homophobia.

“You never dance with the girls when we’re out,” Bucky says.

It comes easily, observant rather than accusatory, but Steve feels his muscles lock-up instantly. 

_ Obvious _ , he thinks,  _ I’ve been way too obvious.  _

“Not interested,” he lies, easily. 

He leans forward, dragging his pencil across the new sketchbook Bucky bought him with money he’d saved up for months. He almost feels bad for leaving such heavy marks on the page that’ll surely bleed onto the next few, but he’s trying to make it seem like he’s completely engrossed with his drawing. 

He isn’t, really; or, at least, not anymore. Ironically enough, he’d been drawing a body in motion, dancing across a bar when Bucky had walked in. Not just any body, though, and the fear that Bucky knows again flares up so hard that Steve’s knuckles turn white against his drawing utensil. 

“Am I supposed to believe that obvious lie?” Bucky asks, amusement thick in his voice.

_ Obvious,  _ Steve thinks again, bitterly.  _ Always so obvious. _

Obvious, that there’s exactly one person in said bar that he’d want to dance with, and it isn’t any of the girls. There’d been girls before, that he’d wanted to dance with. He doesn’t know why that’s changed; doesn’t know what’s  _ wrong _ with him. 

Steve hunches over further, hoping Bucky will take the hint. There really isn’t much privacy in their shared living space, but the one time Bucky makes himself scarce is when Steve is drawing. It’s kind of funny, honestly, watching him tip-toe around and whispers swears under his breath when he stubs his toe on something, all in the name of not bothering Steve when he’s in the zone. 

It doesn’t seem like he’s letting Steve off the hook this time, though. 

“It’s not like they’d want to dance with me,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. “Besides, I can’t dance.”

Both are easier to say than the original lie. These, at least, were facts. 

He emphasizes this by looking up and actually meeting Bucky’s eyes. Emotions flickers across his face, too fast to catch. He settles on more amusement. 

“I thought that’s what’d you say,” Bucky says. “Get up.”

“I’m drawing?” Steve says.

Bucky pushes off of the wall, and walks over to their old, nearly broken beyond saving, record player. He plays something slow, but dancey; the exact same kind of music that plays at the bar. 

He reaches his hand out towards Steve, and says, with a smile, “And  _ I’m  _ trying to teach you how to dance here, and it’s a one time offer. Take it or leave it.”

Steve stares at the outstretched hand. He should leave it. 

_ Obvious _ , his brain hisses, and yeah. He should really,  _ really _ leave it. 

If he takes it, he’ll hate himself for giving into whatever sickness has infiltrated his brain that makes him want boys in the same way he wants girls. If he doesn’t, he’ll hate himself forever for not snatching up the chance to dance with the jerk in front of him.

_ Just once, _ he tells himself, taking Bucky’s hand,  _ just once, I’ll let an illness win. _

Steve drops the sketchbook onto the couch, and lets Bucky help him stand. 

“Alright,” he says, “we’re going to pretend that I’m a cute girl that you’ve wooed, and are now dancing with.”

“Wooed by what?” Steve deadpans, hyper-aware of the fact that Bucky is just straight up holding his hand now, “My awkward stuttering or the bones that practically stick out of my skin? Oh, maybe it’s the wheezing-”

“Keep talking and we’re not doing this,” Bucky says, and Steve shuts his mouth instantly. Satisfied, he continues with a cheeky grin, “Besides, your awkwardness works for you. It’s endearing.”

Steve feels himself blush, and he’s thankful that he always looks mildly feverish. He pretends like hearing Bucky compliment him hadn’t wooed  _ him _ . 

“Alright, so put your hands here,” he says, grabbing Steve’s other hand and placing them both on his hips. “I’ll put mine here. And now, we sway to the beat of the music. Simple as that.”

They move awkwardly around their tiny living-room as Bucky hums along to the song under his breath. Well, it’s mostly Steve. Bucky has always had a certain amount of grace that somehow amplifies itself when he’s dancing. His body moves with ease, like it’s something he was born to do. Steve’s too Hell-bent on not noticing it, that he forgets to move along with the timing of the music. 

“Jesus, you have no sense of rhythm,” Bucky says, too fond sounding to be considered rude.

Still, Steve can’t help but scowl. 

“I  _ told  _ you,” he mutters.

Bucky hums, thinking. 

“Alright, trust me for a second here,” is the only warning Steve gets before he’s being manhandled.

He tries not to panic as Bucky pulls their bodies closer together, unsatisfied until Steve cooperates and stands on Bucky’s feet. His face is so close that Steve can feel himself go cross-eyed trying to look at him.

“W-what?” is the only thing he can manage, hoping Bucky can’t feel or hear the thunderous pound of his heart. 

“My dad taught my sister how to dance like this when she was young,” Bucky explains, moving them to the music with ease. It’s like Steve’s added weight isn’t even there. “Thought it might be able to help you find a rhythm.” 

_ The rhythm of my heart maybe, _ Steve thinks, cringing. 

There’s not way Bucky can’t feel it, with their chests pressed together like this. Still, he says nothing, swaying them around the room in time with the music. Steve follows because he has to; Bucky’s got his arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders now, and Steve lets his own hang loosely behind Bucky’s back. 

“Lighten up, punk,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes before placing his hand on the back of Steve’s head.

Steve feels like his brain short circuits as Bucky guides him to rest his head on his shoulder. Content, Bucky places his cheek against the side of Steve’s head, and carries on humming. 

_ Just this once _ is a tricky, downward spiral.  _ Just this once  _ opens the door for  _ that wasn’t so bad, maybe I’ll do it again _ , rinse and repeat. Steve knew that before he agreed and took Bucky’s hand. Still, that doesn’t stop him from falling into the cycle. 

Because dancing with Bucky wasn’t so bad. Being pulled closer, wasn’t so bad. Giving in to the rush of the illness in his mind, and tightening his arms around Bucky so much that he huffs a laugh in Steve’s ear, hadn’t been so bad. The illness raging in his head, making him close his eyes and get swept up in the sweet way Bucky moves them, wasn’t so bad. 

Never in his life had an illness felt so  _ good _ . Maybe, he thinks, sometime later when dancing with Bucky seems like a distant dream, that’s why the serum never gets rid of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people skip over the internalized homophobia, but I could physically feel the disappointment my psychology professor would have in me if I skipped over the history of the relationship between being gay and mental illness. 
> 
> Same sex attraction wasn't removed from the DSM until the 1970's; it was something you could and would be hospitalized for. Growing up in that sort of social environment has it's influences, and while I don't think either would be outwardly rude to someone else about it, if you're told something about you is wrong your whole life, you're going to believe it.
> 
> Sometimes you're harder on yourself than you are on others, and I kind of tried writing Steve from that perspective - being told that what he feels is wrong (It was considered a sort of stunt in growth, if you continued to feel same-sex attraction as an adult; it was something you were supposed to 'grow out of') and having the fear that it's because he's still small and weak that it's happening. 
> 
> Which is also why I added the line about the serum not fixing it. It was an idea that my ex's friend drunk rambled about once, before I even knew what the Hell he was talking about, and then [this](https://dickieword.tumblr.com/post/165910167443/if-it-aint-broke-the-serum-wont-fix-it) beautiful piece of artwork showed up on my Tumblr dash and I figured it was a sign to put it in. 
> 
> OP's bisexual, and while everything Steve thinks about himself can be seen as offensive, if anything comes off as needlessly so, PLEASE tell me. 
> 
> I take writing requests on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/possessingsiren) & can also be found on   
> [Non-Writing Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/loving-glimmer) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LittleLoser987) :)


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